


An Object in Motion: An Alphabet Tale

by thievinghippo



Series: Sonya Shepard [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 04:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1806118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thievinghippo/pseuds/thievinghippo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The evolution of a Shepard, one letter at a time. A Sonya Shepard Alphabet Story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A is for Augury

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theherocomplex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theherocomplex/gifts).



**August 2159 - Santa Monica, California, The United North American States**

“I’m gonna be a dragon when I grow up.”

Hannah Whitson had to cover up her mouth to keep herself from laughing at her daughter. She had promised herself once she would never laugh at her own kid, remembering far too well the cruel sound of her own mother’s laughter. But damn this batch of Red Sand made it hard not to laugh at _everything._

“Who the fuck wants to be a dragon?” Wendy asked, rolling her eyes. “Be a princess. Find some rich ass alien with a human obsession.”

Hannah smacked her best friend on the shoulder. “If the little Shepard wants to be a dragon when she grows up, that’s what she’ll be.”

“Whatever,” Wendy mumbled, turning onto her back and reaching into her beach bag. “I’m doing another line.”

“Come here, little Shepard,” Hannah said. Shepard picked up her bucket and walked unevenly over the sand. Already tall for her age at only five years old, Shepard looked at Hannah with adoring eyes. John’s eyes. People thought it strange that called her daughter by her last name. But Hannah didn’t care. She needed the reminder that John was still a part of their lives, even if he died two years ago in the First Contact War. Fucking aliens.

“Momma and Wendy are going to have some candy,” Hannah said softly. The section of beach they sat on looked deserted, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. Shepard pulled on one of her messy braids and put the tail in her mouth. “So let’s play the cop game.”

Shepard’s eyes lit up as she clapped her hands. “Don’t worry, Momma,” she said. “I’ll protect you.”

“That’s my little Shepard,” Hannah said. She brought Shepard into her arms and held her tight for a moment. Life just wasn’t fucking fair sometimes. Hannah was meant for more than this. More than being a twenty year old single mom with a five year old daughter. She and John should have been married by now, maybe even have a kid brother for the Shepard. She shouldn’t be living in the basement of her grandfather’s house, with drugs being her only escape.

“Keep an eye out for the bad guys,” Hannah whispered.

Shepard ran off happily, pulling up her red shorts that had started to fall down. The shorts were a couple of sizes too big, but Hannah had to make do with whatever was cheapest at the thrift store. Least they’d last a couple of summers.

Hannah stared out into the Pacific as Wendy prepped the Red Sand. The sky faded from blue to violet as fluffy red clouds paralleled the ocean. John used to take her out here, before he enlisted in the Alliance on his eighteenth birthday, a mere week before humanity discovered they weren’t alone in the galaxy. Two months later John was dead, killed in action. All Hannah had left was a small pension for Shepard, John’s dog tags and an actual paper letter from an Ensign Anderson, who said if it wasn’t for John’s sacrifice, he’d be dead. Cold comfort, that.

“S’ready,” Wendy said, leaning forward to take the first line. Her eyes scrunched up as she finished, shaking her head and curling her hands into fists. “They really need to find a pill version of this shit.”

“A-fucking-greed,” Hannah said, snorting up her own line. The effect was immediate and Hannah flopped back onto the sand and felt herself float away.

“Let’s go to Madame Ines tonight,” Wendy said, her words slightly slurred. “Been a while since we had our cards read.”

Hannah raised her arms to look at her hands. She had such pretty hands, with long tapered fingers. She should have been a piano player…

~~~~~

“My Momma’s right over here.” Shepard’s voice was loud and affected causing Hannah to sit up at once.

“Shit,” Hannah hissed as she threw the bag of Red Sand in her tote, underneath a towel. How much time had passed? Wendy sat up, a bit wobbly and grabbed a datapad while Hannah ran a hand through her curly brown hair, hoping she seemed presentable.

“Hi Momma!” Shepard said far too loudly. Hannah waved, and the woman holding Shepard’s hand seemed satisfied. Shepard ran into Hannah’s outstretched arms, hoping the show would be good enough to get the lady to go away.

“Momma, I found a cop pretending not to be a cop,” Shepard whispered, as she wrapped her skinny arms around Hannah’s neck. “No more candy.”

“And this is why I love my little Shepard,” Hannah said, kissing her daughter on the cheek. Looking across the sand, Hannah saw that the woman was already on her way. Now that the fear of getting caught was abated, Hannah felt the effects of the Red Sand flowing through her system again. “You are so good at protecting Momma!”

Even Wendy laughed at that. “Good job, kid. Maybe you’ll be a dragon after all.”

Shepard seemed pleased at the praise. Really the kid just wanted to be useful, which gave Hannah an idea. She took her new omni-tool off her wrist and gave it to Shepard. “Read Momma a story.”

The adult omni-tool looked ridiculous on Shepard’s arm, but Hannah didn’t have the credits to buy a child’s version. Hell, she barely had enough to pay for this one. Shepard brought up the screen - the kid learned how to use an omni-tool in less than a day - and went to the book menu.

Shepard knew her ABCs, but wasn’t the greatest reader, though she was smart. So smart. The kindergarten teacher already had her working on sixth grade level math and mentioned working on pre-algebra soon. Reading wasn’t coming along nearly as well; Shepard simply understood numbers more easily than words.

Hannah leaned back on her towel and closed her eyes. A nap sounded great right about now. “Find a story about a dragon.”

~~~~~

Shepard wished Momma and Auntie Wendy wouldn’t walk so fast. Especially when it was dark out and Shepard couldn’t see what was in front of her. She didn’t like walking on the beach with sandals on, not ones that pinched her toes and gave her blisters she wasn’t supposed to pop.

“Your kid’s being slow again,” Auntie Wendy said.

“Come on, I’ll carry you,” Momma said, turning around. Shepard reached up and waited patiently while Momma lifted her up into her arms, before wrapping her legs around Momma’s waist. “You’re really getting too big for this, little Shepard.”

Shepard closed her eyes, letting her head rest on Momma’s shoulder. She listened to the waves and thought about all the fish getting ready to go to bed. She thought about asking Momma how fish slept, but Momma never liked when Shepard asked questions after she had some candy. She’d ask Mrs. Massani at school tomorrow. Mrs. Massani knew the answer to _everything._

“We’re here,” Momma said. They stood at the edge of the beach, near a parking lot, where a row of small houses stood. “What do you think, Wendy, should we get the Shepard’s cards read?”

“Why the fuck not? Not like Madame Ines charges credits for this shit,” Auntie Wendy said. “Do a three card reading. Maybe it will tell her she’ll be a dragon in the future.”

Shepard looked away and tried not to pout. She knew she wouldn’t be a real dragon, not one that breathed fire. But she could protect people, like she protected Momma. Someone had to.

Momma took Shepard’s hand and they walked up to one of the small houses, Shepard wondered if it should be called a house at all. They walked inside and Shepard started to cough at the strange smell. It was worse than the one Momma sprayed in their room in granddad’s house after she had a candy stick. But at least all the flickering lights were pretty.

“Madame Ines?” Momma said. “Do you have time?”

“I do.”

Shepard tried to hid behind Momma’s legs, suddenly scared of the large woman in front of her. She wore a lot of gold and had bright red lips and long, straight black hair.

“This is Shepard. I’d like a three card reading, if you don’t mind,” Momma said, pushing Shepard forward. “Sit in the chair, little Shepard.”

For Momma, she would. She could be brave for Momma. The woman picked up a stack of cards and started shuffling.

“Madame Ines is going to tell you your future. Won’t that be exciting?” Momma said.

Shepard frowned. She knew her future. Granddad would walk her to school tomorrow and she and Maggie would play at recess and the menu said lunch would be macaroni and cheese. Mrs. Massani would spend fifteen minutes with her going over math and then look at the picture on her desk and look sad. After school Granddad would walk her home and they’d make dinner together so it was ready when Momma came home from work. She liked her future. She didn’t want anything different.

The woman put down three cards, prettier than the cards she and granddad played Go Fish with. She loved playing Go Fish, cause she always won. Granddad said it’s cause she always remembered what numbers he asked for and he always forgot what she wanted.

“The first card represents your past,” Madame Ines said.

Shepard bit her lip. The past made her sad. It was Momma crying and screaming in the middle of the night, wanting Shepard’s daddy back, and not calming down until she had some candy.

“The Page of Wands,” Madame Ines said. “A reliable person, who wants only happiness and and excitement for others.”

Momma gripped Shepard’s shoulder so hard is almost hurt. “That’s John.”

“Someone who served others.”

“Her father,” Momma said. Shepard looked up and saw Momma wipe her eyes. “You’ve just described her father.”

“The next card is your present,” Madame Ines said. “The Star reversed.”

Shepard inched forward and shrugged off Momma’s hand from her shoulder to look at the card. She liked stars and someday, she and Maggie were going to visit one. They promised they would during recess one day last week.

“This shows a certain amount of stubbornness or perhaps an unwillingness to adapt to changes in life.”

“She’s a kid, she’s not allowed to be unwilling,” Momma said.

“Perhaps it represents certain people in her life,” Madame Ines said.

“What do you think, little Shepard, that fits Granddad to a tee, doesn’t it?”

Shepard nodded, thinking about how angry Granddad got sometimes, especially watching vids about aliens. Shepard liked aliens; she thought the asari were pretty and the salarians were really smart. She didn’t know what to think about turians. She liked their face paint but Granddad told her over and over she should hate them. But Shepard didn’t want to hate anyone.

“This last card represents your future,” Madame Ines said, turning over the last card. Shepard looked and saw a skeleton on a horse. “Death-”

“No!” Shepard shouted, jumping out of her chair. “No!”

“Baby, it’s okay,” Momma said, grabbing her hand. “That’s not a bad card.”

Shepard didn’t want to hear. She didn’t want anyone else to die. She already lost Daddy and couldn’t lose Momma or Granddad or Maggie or Mrs. Massani. She jerked her hand away from Momma and ran out the door.

“Wendy, grab her!” Shepard heard Momma yell behind her.

But Shepard knew she ran faster than Auntie Wendy could. So Shepard ran and decided if they couldn’t catch her, the cards didn’t matter and none of it would come true.

She didn’t stop running until she made it to a part of the beach she didn’t recognize. It was a lot more crowded and there were more aliens then where Momma always brought her. Shepard hugged herself, wishing it was day and not dark out. But there were lots of lights from people’s omni-tools and she heard lots of laughter, so it couldn’t be all bad here.

Not sure where she should go, Shepard finally decided to sit down on a bench. Momma would find her eventually and Shepard knew she was going to get in so much trouble, even more trouble than when she pushed Jared too hard after he tried to take Alicia’s lunch. So she brought her knees to her chest and buried her head.

“You not old enough to be alone, right?” a voice said. Shepard looked up and saw an asari with pretty purple markings. “Granted I’m no human expert, but you look pretty young.”

Shepard looked straight ahead. Momma and Granddad both told her never to talk to strangers, especially aliens. She already would be in enough trouble, she didn’t need to break another rule.

“So that’s the way it’s gonna be, huh, kid?” the asari said. “How about I just sit next to you until your mom shows up.”

Shepard shrugged and looked out at the ocean. She thought it looked the prettiest at night.

“Damnit, Shepard!”

Shepard closed her eyes tight. _No death, no death, no death._

“Don’t you ever run away again,” Momma said, shaking Shepard’s shoulders.

“But Momma, the cards-”

Momma knelt in front of her. “Little Shepard, it’s a game. It’s pretend, like how you want to be a dragon. She shows us cards and we pretend to believe them cause it’s fun. No one’s gonna die, baby."

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” the asari said.

Momma looked at the asari. “Thanks for sitting with her. She can get really - wait. Is this mixing pier?”

“Maybe,” the asari said. “You looking for something?”

“Know where I can find some Red Sand?”

“Oh I can do better than that,” the asari said with a smile. She had a really pretty smile. “Ever heard of Hallex?”

~~~~~

Shepard hugged Momma’s pillow as she tried to fall asleep. She didn’t like sleeping alone. She liked curling up next to Momma.

But back at the beach, Momma and the pretty asari had a bunch of  candy and started to hold hands and then Momma told Wendy to take her home. She and Wendy had to be really quiet opening the basement door, to not wake Granddad cause he hated when Momma stayed out all night. 

Shepard yawned and hugged the pillow tight and hoped that when she fell asleep, she dreamed of dragons.


	2. B is for Bulwark

**November 2161 - Los Angeles, California, The United North American States**

“Do you need a sign?”

Henry Whitson took a breath and held Shepard’s hand tighter. Last thing he needed was her running off again, not with all these people milling around. People high on emotion and short on temper, never a good combination.

“We have signs,” Shepard said, her voice soft.

Whitson smiled, thinking of the time he and Shepard had spent at the kitchen table, figuring out just the right words and colors to use. He might be eighty-six years old, he might have fought on the losing side of the second Civil War, but he’d be damned if he’d give up his planet to a bunch of filthy aliens. They had taken enough from his family already.

“Gramps?” Shepard asked, jerking her hand away from his. He looked down, confused and she added, “You squeezed too tight.”

“Sorry, Champ,” Whitson said, ruffling her hair, ignoring the way his breaths sounded more like wheezes. Medical technology had come a long way in the last twenty years, but it hadn’t quite cured old age yet. “I see a bench. Let’s go sit down for a bit.”

Shepard placed her hand back in his, and together, they maneuvered through the crowd, slowly, him taking his time with his cane. She had become so quiet in the two years since her mother died of a brain hemorrhage. Autopsy hadn’t shown anything wrong, but Whitson knew better. It was the damn drugs, he was sure of it. Red Sand and Hallex had been found in her system, both alien drugs.

Whitson took in the scene once they sat down. When he had heard Terra Firma had plans for massive worldwide protests on the fourth anniversary of the end of the First Contact War, he immediately signed up. Wouldn’t hurt to get Shepard involved in something like this, especially since the public school system seemed determined to act like aliens were no big deal. She even asked him about turian history once for a school assignment, as if turians hadn’t killed her father. No, that kind of behavior had to stop. And since Shepard fell under his responsibility now, it would be up to him.

Terra Firma had the right idea. In major cities all around the world, people would be standing up, letting the entire galaxy know that aliens wouldn’t be allowed to corrupt humanity any further than it had.

At least a hundred people wandered around the city plaza. There were no organized marches or chants yet. That would start at 11:11am in honor of the Armistice. A few carried actual signs, like theirs, made from recycled poster board. Paper was more and more scarce these days. The majority had signed projecting from their omni-tool, something Whitson absolutely refused to use. A smart phone had been good enough for his father and it was good enough for him.

He let Shepard wear one, though. She used the one her mother had, the one she had been wearing when she died. Far as Whitson could tell, Shepard never took it off, even though it looked almost comical when she brought it up over her small bird bones.

“Gramps?”

Shepard looked up at him with her big grey eyes. Every so often, Whitson wondered what he must look like through Shepard’s eyes. Bald, yes, but Shepard still kissed the top of his head at the end of each day when he tucked her in for the night. He might be slow, but his great-granddaughter never showed an ounce of impatience with him. His friends thought he lost his mind when he took custody of Shepard after Hannah died. But he was more active than ever, wanting to give his granddaughter’s Little Shepard the best childhood he could.

Swallowing, Whitson decided to ignore the indigestion building in his chest. “What is it, Champ?” he asked as he watched a frown spread across her face. She held one of their homemade signs in her hands, one that read _ALIENS GO HOME_. Shepard had painstakingly written the words out, using a ruler to make sure each letter stood on a straight line. She even chose the colors, red and blue, in memory of the old United States, before the Civil War. He had told her all about his time with the secessionists, explaining why The United States, Canada and Mexico should have been three separate countries, each with their own special identity, instead of one giant country, where no one was special.

Pointing at the sign, Shepard asked, “I know they should go home, but why?”

The look she gave him reminded him so much of his daughter as a child, Whitson had to grip the arm of the bench to steady himself. His daughter, Shepard’s true namesake, would have been fifty-eight had she survived the accident. It had been twelve years, and it hadn’t gotten any easier. No parent should have to bury a child, and Whitson had buried both his daughter and granddaughter.

“Always asking the good questions, Shepard,” Whitson said, taking one of her smooth hands in his wizened one. The poster started to flutter to the ground, but Shepard quickly caught it with her free hand. “I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to answer honestly.” Shepard nodded eagerly, always anxious to participate in any sort of test. “Where do you feel safest in the entire world?”

Whitson watched Shepard swing her legs, her feet not touching the ground. A brightly colored band-aid covered one knee. She had scraped her knee yesterday and he had fixed it not with that new fangled medi-gel, but with a band-aid and a kiss to make the pain go away. On her feet were sandals, a size too big. Second hand clothes from the local thrift shop would always be the majority of Shepard’s wardrobe. He had retired, and his check and her father’s Alliance pension barely covered their expenses, especially with how Earth’s economy was tanking. Credits disappeared as more and more wealthy elite left the planet, looking for greener pastures and bluer skies.

“I feel safest in my bed,” Shepard finally announced, nodding, as if that was the only possible answer.

“Exactly,” Whitson said, latching on to her words. “You feel safest at home, here on Earth, right Champ? Don’t you think aliens would feel the same way? Feel safest on their own planets, sleeping in their own beds?”

“Then why do they come here?” Shepard asked.

Always one for asking questions, his little Shepard. “You wouldn’t want to stay in bed all the time, would you? You like going to school and to Maggie’s house. But you always go home at the end of the day. We just want them to go home when they’re done visiting.”

She nodded, seemingly satisfied with his answer. Whitson looked up at the sky. Unusually warm for a November morning. They had another thirty minutes before the rally would officially start. Plenty of time to catch a quick nap. Shepard could keep watch, he thought as he closed his eyes. She was such a good little protector…

~~~~~

“Gramps?” Shepard asked, putting away her omni-tool. The rally would be starting any minute now. Granddad had been looking forward to this for weeks; she didn’t want him to miss a minute of it. She glanced over at him. Still sleeping. She tugged the sleeve of his shirt. “Come on, Gramps. It’s about to start.”

His head rolled forward sharply and Shepard felt a flash of fear. “Wake up, Gramps. Please.” A loud shot rang out and the entire crowd started chanting, causing Shepard to cover her ears.

_Terra Firma! Terra Firma!_

The noise from the crowd should have woken him up. Granddad was a light sleeper, thanks to his time as a secessionist, he always said. Shepard didn’t want to leave him, but no one would notice her in this crowd, especially now that someone stood on the nearby platform, pumping his fists over his head. The cheers grew even louder.

_Terra Firma! Terra Firma!_

Shepard stepped over the poster she and Granddad spent so much time making and looked for someone that could help.

They needed to get him help, maybe a doctor, ASAP, as Maggie would say. They had giggled over the word just a few days ago. ASAP.

Only a few steps away stood a woman and two children. Shepard choose her because she looked like her mother, with brown wavy hair. Tugging on the woman’s sleeve, Shepard said, “My grandfather needs help.”

The woman turned, looking upset, and started to say something, but Shepard couldn’t hear the words over the crowd. She pointed at Granddad, who had now slumped to the side, half laying down on the bench. “Please help,” Shepard said, tears starting to sting her eyes.

The next few minutes were chaos. Shepard slid down a nearby wall and watched as the woman called over a few people, who then surrounded her granddad. She took deep breaths, like the ones Mr. Fredricks showed her how to take after her mom died. Breaths that would help keep her calm whenever she started to feel angry.

An ambulance, one with actual tires, not a sky car, pulled up to the curb. With the chanting and yelling, Shepard hadn’t even heard it arrive. She stood up, convinced her legs wouldn’t hold up, making her to fall down to the ground.

All she could see in front of her was the final tarot card in her reading the night her mother died: _death._

Shepard remembered what her mother said, that it was just a game, no one really believed. But part of her wondered if the woman hadn’t pulled that card, would her mother still be alive?

A police officer walked up to her then, and the old sense of failure, that she had lost the cop game by letting one get too close washed over her. “That your father?” He had to shout to be heard over the chanting.

“Great-grandfather,” Shepard yelled back.

“Let me scan your omni-tool so I can contact your parents,” the cop said, reaching for her wrist.

Shepard remembered what Momma told her. Never, _ever_ let them have your omni-tool. It had been more than two years since she heard her mother say these words, but Shepard recited them like it was yesterday. “Legally, you can’t scan my omni-tool without my consent. I refuse my consent,” Shepard said, putting her left arm behind her back.

“Damnit, kid, I just need your parent’s contact info-”

“They’re dead,” Shepard shouted. “I live with Gramps at 1601 Eleanor Ave, Hollywood, California.”

“You gave that up easily enough, why not just let me scan your omni-tool?” the cop asked.

Shepard didn’t want to tell him that the omni-tool contained secrets and treasures. Her mother had transferred every single picture of the two of them onto her omni-tool before she died. There was also a journal, password locked, that Shepard promised herself she would learn how to open someday. These things were _hers._ She wouldn’t share them with anyone.

“Is he going to be okay?” Shepard asked, making sure she spoke loud enough to be heard.

“Sure, kid,” the cop said. “I’m going to take you to the hospital. Social Worker there will know what to do with you.”

Shepard followed the cop to the sky car, being careful not to step on any cracks in the sidewalk. She didn’t need more bad luck, not today. Before she crawled inside, Shepard looked back at the protest, wondering if anyone had picked up her sign. Maybe they were carrying it right now.

She looked out the window as the cop talked to someone outside the car. To the side, a number of aliens gathered, more aliens than Shepard had ever seen at once. She recognized the asari and the turians, those were easy. But she also saw a volus and the tall, skinny alien whose name she could never remember. Maybe Shepard imagined it, but she thought they looked sad.

Then she thought of the different planets they came from, and how she would feel if they all told her to go home, that they wanted her to go home so badly they were willing to protest over it.

The thought made her incredibly upset. She’d have to talk to Granddad about it when he felt better.

~~~~~

“I’m sorry about your grandfather, kid.”

Shepard clutched the pillowcase of her grandfather’s belongings tight to her chest. He didn’t have much on him. His wedding ring, his wallet, his watch.

“Thank you,” she whispered, wondering why she had been so worried about him in the beginning. He sat next to her in the waiting room at the hospital and even brought her a cup of hot chocolate, so hot it burned the inside of her lip.

Tonight she’d sleep in a hospital room, since no one seemed to know what to do with her. Tomorrow the Social Worker said they’d find her a bed at a juvenile center until they figured out exactly where she should go.

“Call a nurse if you need anything, okay?” the cop asked. “They all know why you’re here.”

Shepard nodded, placing the pillowcase on the bedside table and kicking off her shoes. Except for one sleep-over party at Maggie’s, Shepard had never slept anywhere except her own bed before.

She gave the mattress a tentative pat before climbing up into the bed. If she had been home, she would have been in bed hours ago. Shepard always tried to get Granddad to let her stay up past her bedtime, and he never gave in.

But if she had been home, she’d be sleeping in the bed she used to share with Momma, hugging the pillow she hugged every night. Shepard would look up, where she’d see glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling. Momma told her once that her father had put them there, right before he enlisted, telling Momma that he’d give her the galaxy someday.

But most important, Shepard would feel _safe_. Safe in her bed, safe in her house.

As Shepard pulled up the scratchy hospital blanket up to her chin, she wondered if she’d ever feel safe again.


	3. C is for Cookie

**December 2163 - Inland Empire, California, The United North American States**

“What are you doing here?”

Shepard looked up from the school desk where she sat, trying not to look guilty. She didn’t recognized the teacher. Understandable, since she had only been transferred to this school two weeks ago. She was so sick of being moved from one foster care facility to the next. She got it. She really did. Too old, too damaged, no one wanted her, not when most parents hoped for blank slates, newborns or toddlers, whose names they could change and whose personalities they could mold. But couldn’t they at least let her stay in one facility for more than a couple of months at a time?

Clutching her datapad tightly to her chest, she said, “Just my homework.” The one thing this school had going for them was the college-level math program. While her classmates learned fractions and geometry, Shepard worked on pre-calculus.

She loved math. Not just because it came easily to her, which is did. But math made sense. Numbers wouldn’t, no, they _couldn_ _’t_ , lie to her. She understood numbers far better than her classmates. More importantly, she knew math would be her ticket to freedom some day. Good enough scores could lead her to college, maybe even with a scholarship. She’d find a place for herself and wouldn’t have to move around every couple of months.

“Unless you’re here for an after school activity, you can’t be here,” the teacher, a older man with thinning grey hair, said.

“My mom’s running late.” The lie came easily. She hated lying. Her granddad told her over and over again when he was alive that she should never, ever, lie. But Shepard knew sometimes it had to happen. Now the teacher wouldn’t wonder why she sat in an empty classroom by herself.

“Wait out front,” the teacher ordered, sounding bored. “It’s not cold out.”

Nodding, Shepard stood up, carefully putting her datapad back in its case. Now where would she go? She didn’t have to be back at the facility until six o’clock, when the dining hall opened for dinner. And she never went back early if she could help it.

Before leaving the classroom, Shepard knelt down, pulling up her knee sock, which had fallen down and gathered around her right ankle. Another thing Shepard liked about the school was the uniforms. Her last school didn’t have them, and Shepard had to endure the other kids mocking her clothes, which never seemed to fit right. Here at least, Shepard looked the same as everyone else, wearing the same navy blue trousers and light blue blouse.

“Bean pole! Bean pole!”

Shepard closed her eyes, just for a moment, and willed the two boys walking towards her to go in the other direction. Of course they didn’t. Instead, she stood up and started walking down the hallway. Even with the uniforms, the other kids found something to tease her about, in this case, her height. She couldn’t help that she was the tallest in her class, taller than even all of the boys.

“You look like a salarian!” a boy - Kevin, Shepard thought - yelled loudly, pulling her ponytail.

“Salarians don’t have hair,” Shepard snapped, walking faster. Thanks to her height, she could outpace the boys teasing her. They continued to say stupid things, which Shepard tried to ignore. Sometimes she wondered if her whole life would be like this. Wrong clothes, wrong height, wrong _everything._

Using the heel of her palm, Shepard threw open the door leading outside. The teacher had it right, at least. The air didn’t feel crisp at all, feeling more like spring instead of two weeks before Christmas. Taking a deep breath, Shepard relaxed a bit, sure the boys wouldn’t follow her outside. But now she had to figure out where to go. One lesson she had learned is no one liked seeing an unattended child. Even a well-mannered one, which Shepard always made sure to be. Easier not to get noticed when on your best behavior.

She kept her head down, walking at a brisk pace, ignoring the few cars stubbornly clinging to the pavement and the many skycars flying overhead. She heard people yelling at each other across the street, but she avoided looking at anything but the sidewalk. Nothing would be gained by looking around. It would still be the same strip malls with half the spaces empty or the partially rented office buildings. Whenever she read the news, the headlines about the recession dominated, with more and more wealthy leaving the planet. People calling themselves experts said in a couple of years, Earth might have a real crisis.

Shepard reached her destination, a fast food restaurant, a place she knew she could sit for a few minutes without suspicion. Opening her omni-tool, Shepard brought up the list she kept, places where she could go, activities she could be a part of, a chance to feel like she belonged somewhere for a little bit. Scanning the list, Shepard smiled, knowing exactly where she would spend the next couple of hours.

Story time at Murietta Public Library. Every other Tuesday they had story time, complete with cookies and juice. And if she hurried, she might even make it before all the cookies were gone.

~~~~~

Shepard looked at the picked-over tray, full of crumbs, disappointed only vanilla cookies were left, instead of the peanut butter ones she hoped for. But that didn’t stop her from palming two, one for now and slipping the other in the pocket of her trousers for after dinner.

Next to the cookie tray, stood a bowl with what looked like purple rice. Curious, Shepard took a spoon and put some on a plate.

“You shouldn’t eat that, young one,” a quiet voice said.

“Why not?” Shepard asked, looking up. Her breath hitched when she realized it was a turian standing right next to her.

_Turians killed your father, little Shepard, don_ _’t ever forget that._

That message had been drilled into Shepard for as long as she could remember. Granddad would read an article or watch an extranet report about aliens and told her over and over again that they were responsible for her father’s death. Shepard had learned about the First Contact War at school, how both sides made mistakes, but eventually learned to work together for a fragile peace. But a lot of humans died to make that peace possible.

Never had Shepard been so close to an alien before. She had seen them on the extranet, or across the street. Never standing right next to her, so close she could see the woman’s cat eyes or simply reach out and brush the strange fabric of her clothes.

The turian’s pinchers - _they_ _’re called mandibles -_  flicked out but Shepard couldn’t tell if that meant the woman was happy or sad or angry. They didn’t even have lips or cheeks that move. How could you ever tell how they felt by looking at their faces? “That’s for the turian children here today,” the woman said. “Have you been tested for a dextro allergy?”

Shepard realized the woman seemed to expect some sort of reply. “Dunno,” she finally said, her voice small, looking down at the purple rice. “What’s it called?”

“ _Limth_ ,” the woman said. “It’s, well, it’s actually a breakfast side dish, but I appreciate the effort the library went to. They didn’t need to provide any dextro snacks.”

Without thinking, Shepard held out her plate. “I didn’t touch it if you want it.”

“No, thank you, young one,” the turian said. “It’s almost time to start.”

The turian nodded, and Shepard felt oddly dissatisfied with the conversation. She couldn’t tell anything about the woman from their talk, whether she was glad to chat or annoyed to be basically be eating the human equivalent of hash browns. Their faces simply didn’t give anything away.

“Take a seat, everyone,” a plump blonde woman called out at the front. Shepard glanced around the room and realized there were several turians, adults and children scattered about.

Shepard settled on the carpeted rug, near the back, where she was less likely to be noticed. Bringing her knees to her chest, Shepard carefully broke the cookie in her hand in two, placing one half in her mouth. She didn’t chew, just let the flavor linger on her tongue, letting the cookie slowly dissolve. Around her, human and turian children all scampered about to find a place on the story rug. Most of the humans sat cross-legged on the floor but the turians all knelt low to the ground. At first Shepard wondered why, but then she realized that turians _couldn_ _’t_ sit like humans, their spurs would get in the way. She wondered what other little differences there were.

“We are honored to have Artisan Kandros here today,” the woman said, clasping her hands together. “She’s on a planet wide tour with her daughter, wanting to share some of the turian folk legends with us.” The woman looked at the tall turian, the same one who told Shepard not to eat the _limth_ , and smiled. “Artisan Kandros, the floor is yours.”

Kandros looked down at the floor for a moment, and Shepard wasn’t sure, but thought the turian looked slightly confused. Shepard couldn’t tell exactly, but just the way she tilted her head and the way her mandibles tightened slightly seemed to indicate confusion. And then Shepard giggled, remembering an extranet letter Maggie had forwarded her once, about how some sayings didn’t make sense in other languages. Shepard would bet ‘the floor is yours’ was one of them.

“Thank you,” Kandros said, moving to the middle of the floor where everyone could see her. “Before turians discovered spirits, we worshiped different gods, ones we called the titans. They had no names, as no one would dare be so conceited to think they could name a god. The titans were as tall as the clouds, forcing every turian, adult and child, to look up to them. At the time, turians thought the titans would eventually lead everyone to the heavens.”

Shepard found herself leaning forward, curious about the tale. She always loved learning about the different human mythologies out there, like Zeus or Thor. It never occurred to her that other races would have their own versions. What would salarian mythology be like, or that trunkless elephant race? Maybe she could find a book to read and learn. 

“We thought our Priests, the Valluvians, as gatekeepers. They had the power to communicate with the titans, to understand them, to tell the people their will. We considered them almost gods themselves, because of the special robes they wore, allowing them to disappear without a trace.”

The other half of the vanilla cookie lay in Shepard’s hand, forgotten. She closed her eyes, listening to the soothing lilt of Kandros’ voice as she wove a tale of how the titans eventually disappeared from Palaven and how occasionally, even in present day, in the ruins of Temple Palaven, a scrap of purple cloth would appear. Everyone knew that the Priests were still watching, still waiting. And while spirits, not titans, watched over the turian people now, some though the titans would return and claim their rightful place as their protectors.

Once Kandros finished speaking, she bowed her head, her mandibles drawn tightly to her face. Shepard and the other humans started clapping, but the turians all mirrored Kandros, bowing their heads. Words her Granddad told her once ran through her head, how aliens never bothered to learn human customs. But these were turians listening to a turian storyteller.

Shepard stopped clapping and bowed her head.

Almost a full minute passed before Kandros lifted her head. The other turians followed suit. Standing up, her legs slightly shaky from sitting for so long, Shepard made her way back to the snack table, hoping that a few cookies might be left. Not for herself, but she could bring them back to the foster care facility. A couple of the younger kids would like them.

Shepard realized she still had the broken half of her original cookie still in her hand. As she debated whether or not to eat or save the cookie for later, a young turian, about Shepard’s height, with the same markings as Artisan Kandros, walked up to the table. “Are those any good?” the turian asked, pointing at the cookies.

“Not my favorite,” Shepard said honestly. Without thinking, she held out the other half of the cookie. “I like the peanut butter ones better. But these are okay.”

The turian girl took the cookie and looked it over. Shepard wondered how she would eat it. Turians didn’t have teeth like humans; they couldn’t smash the cookie into tiny bits to swallow. The turian’s mandible flicked out and she popped the cookie in her mouth. She didn’t chew, but simply let the cookie dissolve on her tongue, just like Shepard had done with her half before story time.

“Not bad,” the turian said, after a moment. “Better than the _limth._ Thanks.”

After the turian walked off, Shepard grabbed the last two cookies on the tray and stuffed them in her pocket. Glancing at the clock on the wall, Shepard saw she had twenty minutes or so before she had to head back to the facility, for another night of sitting in front of the viewer with the rest of the kids, watching extranet programs she didn’t care to see. But maybe she had just enough time to find a book on alien legends.

She wouldn’t mind learning more.


	4. D is for Decision

**September 2165 - Pasadena, California, The United North American States**

“What do you think, Shepard? The blue or the grey?”

Shepard stood up and fingered the silky material carefully. Nadia, her ‘foster sister,’ stood at the vanity and puckered her mouth and deliberately painted her lips. The color seemed so close to Nadia’s natural lip color that Shepard didn’t much see the point.

Considering the question, Shepard looked Nadia over. The sixteen year old wore a long black skirt and a white long sleeve blouse. “You need some color,” Shepard said after a moment’s deliberation.

“Good point,” Nadia said, picking up the blue hijab and arranged it over her head, using practiced moves. “There.”

Shepard watched as Nadia twirled in front of her, showing off before she left on her date. Nadia was gorgeous, with dark skin and olive colored eyes. But her most beautiful feature, her hair, black, thick and shiny, only a few people ever got to see.

“I believe in modesty,” Nadia had told her when Shepard had asked why she wore the hijab. “No one makes me wear it. Mom doesn’t wear one, but she supports my decision.”

“You look beautiful,” Shepard said honestly as she sat on the bed in the room they shared. It was a teenager’s room, with a vid screen on the wall next to posters of Nadia’s favorite bands. Clothes never seemed to find their way into the closet, instead finding new homes on the floor or draped over chairs. Music with a strong techno beat blared from the audio player. Shepard felt safe in this room, a feeling she hadn’t had in a long time.

“Of course I do,” Nadia said with a wink. “Now, you’ll be okay with just Aunt Yasmin?”

“I met her once,” she said, remembering the small party her foster parents threw in Shepard’s honor for her birthday. Shepard hadn’t expected them to make a fuss. They were letting her stay in their home, instead of the foster care facility. That was enough. For them to go out of their way to make her feel welcome…

“She’s a hoot,” Nadia said, biting her lip. “A little weird though.” Her face lit up. “She loves omni-tools and computers. Ask her about those and she’ll talk all night.”

“Yeah?” Shepard asked, tracing the thin line of her omni-tool at her wrist. She still used her mother’s, but did her best to update it regularly. The Khalibs - the soft spoken Faiq and his proud wife Abeer - offered to buy her a new one just days after Shepard arrived in their home. But Shepard couldn’t bring herself to put her mother’s aside.

Living with the Khalibs had one other major advantage. Once they realized her skill in math, they transferred her from a public school to Polytech, a school that specialized in the math and sciences. Between school and the relatively calm atmosphere at the house, Shepard was happier than she remembered being in a long time.

“Yeah. Now,” Nadia said severely, looking at herself in the mirror. “I just have to convince Ahmed that because I wear a hijab doesn’t mean I don’t want a kiss goodnight.”

Shepard wrinkled her nose. Kissing. Everyone told her she’d change her mind some day, but now? It didn’t seem very hygienic. Or very time productive.

“Nadia, get your ass down here and say hello!”

Nadia rolled her eyes. “Yasmin’s here. Go down and say hi, will you, Shepard?”

Hopping off of the bed, Shepard looked Nadia over one more time. She really did look pretty. As she walked down the stairs, Shepard tried to imagine herself wearing hijab. The Khalibs were slowly teaching her about Islam and the Quran. They put no pressure on her, but made it known if she wanted to say the sentence that would make her one of the faithful, they would support her wholeheartedly.

And there were plenty of times Shepard thought she should. She _liked_ the idea of belonging to something bigger than herself. Something that would still be there hundreds of years after she was gone. She remembered going to church with Momma and Granddad at Christmas and Easter years ago and the heady smell of incense and the stained glass. Church had been one of the only places Momma could stand still. She would bow her head, lips moving but no words coming out. And when Momma had lifted her head, every single time, she would hug Shepard tight.

Shepard hoped Momma was at peace, wherever that was.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, you’re taller than me now.”

“Hello, Ms. Khalib,” Shepard said, realizing that Yasmin spoke the truth. But these days, Shepard felt taller than everyone.

“Aren’t you adorable,” Yasmin said with a smirk. “Please. It’s Yasmin. Ms. Khalib is a woman that I hope never exists in my lifetime.”

Yasmin had that slightly timeless look. Shepard knew she was Mister Khalib’s younger sister, but didn’t know exactly how much younger. Tonight she wore a crisp black linen shirt tucked into a pair of denim trousers. But the way she wore them made Shepard feel underdressed in her school uniform.

Nadia came downstairs then and Yasmin scowled, running her hand through her short dark hair, streaked with rich amber and honey highlights. “You’re still wearing the damned hijab?”

Rolling her eyes, Nadia put her hands over her ears. “La la la I can’t hear you!”

“Join the twenty-second century,” Yasmin said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Wait, let me think,” Nadia said, one hand on her hip. “If I remember my history correctly, women had to go through a hell of a lot of bullshit so I could have the choice, my _choice_ , to wear this.”

“Fine,” Yasmin said, rolling her eyes. “You want to go outside looking like a caricature, be my guest.”

“I will, thanks,” Nadia said, kissing Yasmin on the cheek. “Love you, Auntie Yasmin.”

“You, too, babe. Go have fun tonight. I’ll be here, corrupting Shepard’s mind. I’m ready to expand my criminal empire.”

With another wave, Nadia left the house, leaving Shepard standing with her hands awkwardly in front of her. She had been the victim of a growth spurt in the past two weeks and didn’t quite know what to do with her limbs.

“You’re going to make me a criminal?” she asked after a beat. Shepard didn’t know whether or not to be excited or terrified at the prospect.

Yasmin tilted her head and started at her, for so long that Shepard found herself squirming under her gaze. “I’m told you’re good at math. Do you like omni-tools?”

Holding out her wrist, Shepard said, “I use my mom’s. It’s old, but I keep it updated pretty well.”

“May I?”

Shepard sucked in her breath. No one had ever looked through her omni-tool before. She hadn’t let them. Besides her granddad’s watch, her ‘tool was her most precious possession. But curiosity caused Shepard to slip the ‘tool off her wrist into Yasmin’s waiting outstretched palm.

Yasmin settled onto the couch, an oversized leather one, large enough that Shepard always felt like it would swallow her whole. As Yasmin looked through Shepard’s ‘tool, Shepard walked to a nearby bookcase, one full of actual paper books.

Just as Shepard choose a book to read, Yasmin let out a low whistle. “Shepard, darling, come sit by me.”

“My ‘tool pass your inspection?” Shepard asked with a grin.

A slow smile, almost predatory, spread over Yasmin’s face. “You have no idea. First things first, I’m getting you a new omni-tool.”

“I don’t want-”

“I know, I know, it’s your mother’s, you can’t live without it, etcetera, etcetera,” Yasmin said, standing up. She started to rummage through her handbag and finally held a omni-tool triumphantly over her head. “This is a Nexus. Beats the pants off of your Bluewire.”

“I guess I could take a look,” Shepard said after a moment.

Yasmin twirled the omni-tool lazily around her finger. “How old are you again?”

“Eleven.”

“College level math, right?”

Shepard nodded.

“We are going to have so much fun,” Yasmin said, throwing the ‘tool to Shepard. Shepard caught it with one hand and looked at it. Thinner than her Bluewire, but not too thin that it wouldn’t disappear around her wrist like some of the more expensive models.

“It’s a brand new omni-tool. What do you do?”

Shepard closed her eyes and thought of the upgrades she had on her ‘tool. And the required programs. Because she was technically a ward to the state, a tracking program had been installed. They knew what she searched on the extranet and what apps she used to help with her homework. _That’s_ the first thing she would do.

Shepard would become a ghost.

Taking one careful step at a time, Shepard upgraded the ‘tool, downloading programs - always incognito - to make sure no one could ever track her. She left no trail. Download two apps that had nothing to do with her upgrades only to delete another. She found programs to automatically delete her extranet history and others to obscure her IP address.

Just when she debated whether or not she could download Galaxy of Fantasy without Yasmin noticing, the older woman grabbed her wrist. “Let me see,” she said, her voice soft.

Shepard bit her lip, suddenly shy. But Yasmin didn’t seem to care, taking the omni-tool from Shepard’s wrist and slipping it on her own.

As Yasmin inspected the ‘tool, Shepard brought her knees to her chest, being careful not to put her shoes on the couch. Mrs. Khalib hated shoes on the furniture.

After a few minutes of silence, Yasmin started laughing. Not a nice easy laugh, but meaner, sharper and definitely unsettling. “You’re fucking eleven years old.”

The laughter surprised Shepard, causing her to place the souls of her shoes on the couch. “I’m sorry?” Shepard asked, quickly putting her feet on the floor. Mrs. Khalib would kill her.

“Take it,” Yasmin said, taking the omni-tool from her wrist. “Go to the extranet site for the UNAS Bank.”

Shepard quickly obeyed, her curiosity getting the better of her. With a few swipes of her finger, she was at the site.

“I joke about being a criminal, you know,” Yasmin said, tilting her head. “I joke because no one would ever believe that I actually am one.”

“You are?” Shepard asked, her eyes widening.

Yasmin batted her eyes, looking innocence herself. “No one would ever believe you. Lesson one. Tell a lie with a shattering of truths. Throws people off their guard.” Then her posture changed, she sat up, bringing up the interface of her own omni-tool.

“I am going to teach you how to hack,” Yasmin said. “But first…” She waved her wrist and Shepard received a message on her ‘tool. “Download those programs.” As Shepard worked, Yasmin continued speaking. “Hacking is like a race. You always have to be one step ahead of the other guys. Most of the time, it’s easy to get in, get what you want and leave. People are dumb. They don’t protect themselves. But some places do. And when you know how to break them…”

Shepard’s ‘tool beeped, letting her know the downloads were done. She felt herself getting excited at the prospect of learning something not exactly legal. Suddenly she saw herself like Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to give to the poor, a champion to the people.

“So what do I do?” Shepard asked.

Yasmin took Shepard’s hand and her face turned serious. “First, ground rules. You never wear the Nexus when other people are around. Only when you’re alone or with me. Not even Nadia.”

Shepard nodded.

“Next, you cannot tell my brother. He doesn’t like me very much already. As far as he knows, I’m a successful investment broker.”

“I understand,” Shepard whispered.

“Do you?” Yasmin asked. The sudden harshness in her voice sent a shiver down Shepard’s spine. “You break either of these rules and I will deny everything. I’ll say you stole the omni-tool. They’ll believe me. They won’t believe you. You’ll get kicked out of this house and forced back to the facility. No more fancy school with a fancy uniform.”

Yasmin hooked a finger under Shepard’s chin and forced her head up, until their eyes met. “So you have a choice. We forget we ever had this conversation or you learn a skill that will keep you solvent for the rest of your life. Yes or no.”

The omni-tool around Shepard’s wrist seemed to tighten, tighten until she swore the tips of her fingers turned blue. She took a breath.

Years later, Shepard wondered what path her life would have taken if she had said no.


	5. E is for Equation

**July, 2166 - The Citadel**

Shepard linked arms with Eshe as they started giggling together. “He does not,” Shepard said.

“He does, he totally does,” Eshe laughed. “I’ve caught him staring at you.”

Shepard felt her cheeks redden at the thought. “You really think Justin Mueller likes me?”

“I might have asked him,” Eshe said, grinning as she dragged Shepard into a bakery on the Presidium. “But do you like him?”

“I’m not picky,” Shepard said, hearing the longing in her voice as they looked over the different types of pastries. So many of their friends had boyfriends now; it be nice to be part of the crowd for once. Linking her hands behind her back, Shepard stared at the deserts, trying to figure out if any had peanut butter, and purposely not looking at Eshe. Shepard tried to picture herself holding Justin’s hand while walking down the hallway at school. He was cute, Shepard would admit that. Dark skin and brown eyes. Short, not that height mattered, but he was a good six inches shorter than her. “If he asked me out, I wouldn’t say no.”

“I’m going to tell him that,” Eshe said, bringing up her omni-tool.

“Don’t you dare!”

Eshe stuck out her tongue. “Spoilsport.”

The asari behind the counter coughed very deliberately and Shepard pointed at a brownie. “May I have that one, please,” she said, fishing a credit chit out of her pocket.

“Jaxson likes Justin, too,” Eshe said as they sat down at a table, giving them a view of the whole Presidium. “You’re nicer than she is, though. And smarter. You and Justin have mathletes in common. Jaxson just plays the flute.”

“But she’s prettier,” Shepard said with a sigh, thinking of Jaxson’s blonde hair and bright blue eyes. “She’s got better skin, too.”

While in most cases, the Khalibs believed in modern medicine, with the exception of teenage acne, it seemed. Shepard felt like she found a new pimple every day. The rest of her, well, she simply didn’t measure up to Jaxson. Shepard liked her eyes, a nice grey, but her hair was wavy and prone to being frizzy. Sometimes Shepard wished she could chop it all off.

“Could you imagine living here?” Eshe asked, taking a bit of her cookie.

Shepard closed her eyes and listen to the sounds around her. Having lived her entire life on Earth, it was strange being a minority, and not necessarily a welcome one. But Shepard wanted to take advantage and see everything she could on the Citadel. Her middle school was participating in a math competition, one that involved schools from all over the galaxy. Originally the Khalibs said they couldn’t afford to send her, but Yasmin said she’d pay the cost.

With one condition, of course.

Looking up, Shepard wondered what it might be like to stand on one of those archways, with the entire Presidium laid out before you. She’d bet there was a freedom up there, feeling the skycars zoom past and looking down at everything.

“We should start getting back,” Eshe said once they finished their deserts.

“You go ahead,” Shepard said, feeling her palms begin to sweat. She wiped them on the trousers of her school uniform. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

_Always tell a lie with a scattering of truth._

Shepard did plan on going to the bathroom at some point. Just not now.

Eshe shrugged. “Don’t be late for check-in.”

“I won’t,” Shepard said, swallowing and trying not to think what she was about to do.

She watched Eshe leave before she quickly slipped off her Bluewire omni-tool and replaced it with her Nexus. Then she brought up Yasmin’s instructions.

_Presidium, Barla Von_ _’s office, transfer two files, collect payment_

An advantage of being tall, Shepard had found, were people’s assumptions of her age. No one gave her a second glance as she walked down the Presidium, shoulders back, like Yasmin told her. Stop apologizing for taking up space, she had told Shepard once. _Use your height._

Shepard walked into the office like she had every right to do so. A volus stood behind a desk and looked up at her. “What do you want?” he said.

“I’ve a delivery from Yasmin Khalib,” Shepard said, just like she practiced. Yasmin told her to sound like she granting Barla Von a favor.

“Hrmph, fine. Let’s have it,” Von said, bringing up his omni-tool. Shepard transferred the data and waited while Von looked it over. After a moment, he let out what Shepard thought might be a laugh. “Tell Yasmin the Broker appreciates her information. I’m transferring the credits to her account now.”

“Thank you,” Shepard said. “Ms. Khalib will have more information on future colonies soon.”

Von simply nodded and turned his attention back to his terminal. Shepard took a deep breath and felt her knees shake. She had to get out of there. She didn’t belong in this world, but when Yasmin knew Shepard would be going to the Citadel, the woman didn’t give her any choice.

She tried to be grateful for all the things Yasmin had done for her over the past year. The omni-tool, the hacking lessons. Already Shepard could easily bypass small safes and terminals. Yasmin never let her keep the money, of course. Next would be learning about information and getting into databases.

But at least her errand was complete. Shepard could concentrate on the important things now.

Like math.

~~~~~

“I’m going to throw up,” Shepard said weakly as they took their place on stage. “Look at all the people in the audience.”

Six teams were on stage: human, salarian, asari, turian, elcor, and volus. Every team had four people, ages 10-12, except for the salarians, which had ages 4-5.

“We just need to make it to the second round,” Justin whispered. “Just need to prove we’re not pushovers.”

Shepard nodded and tried to think about math, not what Eshe said, that he had a crush on her. But then their eyes met and she knew she blushed. She could feel the heat in her cheeks.

The fourth on their team, Zhen, their captain, held out her hand. “We’re going to kick some butt.”

Shepard put her hand on top of Zhen’s and Justin immediately followed, grinning at Shepard when he did. Eshe put her hand on top. “Goooo Panthers!” they cried in unison.

The other teams looked at them like they were crazy, but Shepard didn’t care. They had worked too hard to get here, beating out teams first across the UNAS and then all of Earth to qualify for this competition. “Remember, we’re competing against ourselves, not the other teams,” Zhen said.

A puff of air escaped Shepard’s lips. This was one thing they all worried about. Four of the six teams were based on duodecimal mathematics, while only the asari and humans - thanks to the five fingers on their hands instead of only three - would get questions with the decimal system.

Each of them had a part to play in this competition. Eshe’s strength was geometry, while Justin excelled at statistics. Zhen beat everyone at algebra while Shepard considered herself best at calculus.

A buzzer sounded, and they all brought up their omni-tools. Each one had been scanned carefully to make sure only sanctioned programs were installed. A wave of longing for her Nexus, safely stowed away in her backpack, washed over Shepard. She had programs that would let her win this competition singlehandedly.

The first round took ninety minutes. Shepard thought her brain would burst by the time the judges announced the break. But it didn’t matter. They made it through. The asari and the volus were the first teams eliminated, not them. Shepard knew they could all go back to Earth with their heads held high.

Mr. Mitchell, their coach, had water bottles waiting for them when they made it off stage. “You guys did great,” he said, handing them each a bottle.

“If it’s not us, who’s going to win?” Zhen asked after drinking practically half her water bottle.

“The turians,” Shepard and Justin answered at the same time. Eshe grinned while Shepard looked away.

“That one with the blue markings really knows his stuff,” Zhen said almost wistfully.

“No kidding,” Shepard said. “He barely even used his omni-tool. He was doing that math in his head.”

She took a swig of water and looked at the other teams waiting. The turian team stood nearby and she saw the turian they just spoke about watching her. Shepard turned away, hoping he hadn’t overheard them. Last thing they needed was to give him a confidence boost.

“Break time’s over,” Mr. Mitchell said, clapping his hands together. “Get back on stage and make Pasadena proud.”

Shepard took a breath and followed Zhen back onto the stage. The ninety minute round felt like it flew by, even faster than round one. But the difference this time was that they fell short, coming in third behind the elcor by a measly two points. The turians, mainly thanks to the boy with the blue markings, were the other group that made it into the finals.

Off stage, Eshe asked, “Should we watch the final round?” Shepard nodded, wanting to see if the turians would win like she thought.

They found a place to sit, crossed legged, on the floor, where they could see the stage a little bit. Zhen and Justin joined them, with Justin sitting right next to Shepard. Right next to her.

“You’re welcome,” Eshe whispered to Shepard.

Her eyes went wide. “You didn’t…” Shepard whispered furiously back.

“Shepard, be quiet, the round is about to start,” Eshe said loudly, knocking Shepard’s shoulder with her own as she brought up her omni-tool.

The lights on the stage dimmed and Shepard watched the turians and elcor work. About halfway through the round, Shepard felt a pressure on her shoulder. Looking down, she realized that Justin had put his arm around her. She glanced at Justin, who met her gaze with a wry grin, then with a look of hope on his face.

Making a decision, Shepard leaned slightly into Justin and just like that, they became a couple.

~~~~~

The Mathlete organization held a party after the tournament, that all the kids and their chaperons were able to attend. Shepard and Justin walked into together, hand in hand, and she couldn’t remember the last time she was so happy.

Her errand for Yasmin completed, the tournament over, she could finally just relax. Better yet, she had a _boyfriend_ , something she didn’t think would happen for a long time.

She looked in the middle of the room, where the turians gathered, surrounding the trophy they won. “They did really well,” Shepard said, trying to talk over the loud techno music playing.

“I still think duodecimal is easier than decimal math,” Justin said. He somehow managed to time the statement between songs and several duodecimal species glared at him, including the entire turian team. The boy with the blue markings looked particularly offended.

“I don’t think they liked that,” Shepard said, trying to keep a smile off her face.

Justin laughed and they walked over to the food table. Shepard grabbed a plateful of food, mostly things she wouldn’t easily be able to get on Earth, while Justin stuck to a slice of pizza.

“That’s boring,” Shepard said, nibbling on a piece of what she thought was a jerky from Dekuuna. “You can get pizza anywhere.” She held up her jerky. “This, you’ll never be able to find on Earth.”

Justin picked up a can of a volus nutrient drink. “Maybe I should try this, then,” he said with a smirk. “I can’t get this on Earth.”

Shepard laughed and took the can away from him. “Yeah, but it also could kill you. Ammonia based food could do that to a person.”

“Good point,” Justin said, putting the can back. He grabbed a piece of purple fruit that Shepard didn’t recognize, but it was on the levo table, so it must be safe. He took a bite and grimaced. “Not for me.”

Shepard took the fruit out of his hand and tried it herself. It was tart, much tarter than cherries, almost too tart. Her nose wrinkled. “At least we tried,” she said, taking another bite. She didn’t want the food to go to waste.

They ate in silence for a few moments, until Justin said, “You want to look around for a bit? I don’t think Mr. Mitchell is paying attention.”

“Sure,” Shepard said, feeling her cheeks redden. “I’d like that.”

Justin took her hand again and they headed out of the room, passing Eshe, who gave Shepard a thumbs up sign. Shepard rolled her eyes at that.

The hallway was crowded with adults all associated with the event, but they weaved through, making their way down to the end of the hall and around the corner, where they had the illusion of privacy.

Shepard suddenly became nervous, knowing where this was going to go. Her palms felt clammy and she wiped them off on her uniform trousers. Justin looked just as scared, which made Shepard feel a bit better.

It wouldn’t be anything like the vids. Even in this day and age, the woman was always shorter and had to look up to be kissed. Shepard would have to look down.

But then she felt Justin’s hands on her shoulders and his lips pressed against her own and Shepard stopped thinking for a bit.

When they broke apart, Shepard was fairly sure the goofy look on Justin’s face mirrored on her own. “We should probably get back,” Shepard said.

Justin nodded, and hand in hand, they made their way back to the party. 


	6. F is for Fugitive

**August 2168 - Pasadena, California, The United North American States**

Shepard ran as fast as she could.

_Don_ _’t look back. Don’t waste time. Just run. Just run. Just run._

No alarm had sounded yet, no sirens, but Shepard knew it was just a matter of time.

She couldn’t see all that well in the dark, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t stop running. Not now.

_Just run._

~~~~~

Shepard somehow managed not to bang on the front door to Yasmin’s townhouse. Instead she flipped open the keypad and entered the code she had been given once. The one only to use in an absolute emergency.

She couldn’t catch her breath. She had run over three miles to get here, worried that any minute the police would be after her. But thankfully she had made it here without anyone following.

The door opened and Yasmin, wearing a dark green silk road, appeared. “What the hell are you doing here?” Yasmin said, her voice biting. Already she moved to her workstation, bringing up various screens.

“I messed up,” Shepard said, still breathing hard as she wrung her hands. “I didn’t want to risk going home…”

Yasmin’s omni-tool beeped. Glaring at Shepard, she answered the call with an earpiece so Shepard could only hear one side of the conversation. Yasmin looked furious as she listened to the person on the other line. “Do not give me that crap. If this failed, you gave me faulty intel. This should have been child’s play for the Shepard.”

Shepard sat on a richly embroidered ottoman, arms wrapped around her chest, rocking slowly. She closed her eyes and wondered what the hell was going to happen next.

“I don’t care if she’s a teenager. Someone else messed up.”

Shepard’s omni-tool, the Bluewire, beeped. Yasmin turned around and put her hand up. “Don’t you dare answer that.”

Nodding, Shepard then rested her forehead on her knees.

“A warrant so quickly? Alright, I’m going underground. You better, too.”

Yasmin ended the call and headed upstairs. “With me, Shepard.”

Without a second thought, Shepard followed, walking up the white carpeted stairs into Yasmin’s master bedroom. Already Yasmin had out a suitcase and was throwing in clothes.

“How’d they catch you?” Yasmin said. Her tone scared Shepard. There was no emotion. No anger, no despair. Shepard felt a chill go down her spine.

“They cocooned me,” Shepard said, running her hands down the front of her jeans. She took a breath. “I couldn’t butterfly my way out.”

Yasmin turned to look at her then. “You’re telling me, that you. Shepard. The Shepard that I personally have trained, got caught in a cocoon and couldn’t fly your way out?”

“Someone knew I was there!” Shepard said, her voice cracking. “I went in using your legit creds, like you said, and by the time I switched to the proxy, I was cocooned.” Her foot started tapping violently. “Yasmin, I think this was a set up.”

“Give me your omni-tool,” Yasmin ordered, holding out her hand.

Shepard reached into her jeans pocket and handed Yasmin the Bluewire, the one with the state mandated tracker. Yasmin flipped it on, made a few keystrokes and then put it on a nightstand before crushing it with a lamp.

The noise Shepard made didn't sound human. "That was my mother's 'tool!" She wouldn't cry, not in front of Yasmin. That 'tool had everything important to her in her life. And now it was dust.

“Had to be done, Shepard. Now the other.”

“My Nexus?” Shepard asked, taking a step back. “Yasmin, I need a ‘tool. You can’t leave me ‘toolless.”

“Give me the damn omni-tool.”

The look in Yasmin’s eye told Shepard that her that to disobey would be suicide. Shepard stared at her wrist as she slipped off her ‘tool and handed it to Yasmin. Within moments, that omni-tool was ground into pieces as well.

“I’m leaving the planet tonight,” Yasmin said as she started to pack again. “You…” She stopped and looked at Shepard. “You’re now a liability. That warrant? Was for you. My men fucked up and they caught your face on camera.”

“Shit,” Shepard whispered.

“Don’t ever go near the Khalibs again, understand? I'm getting them off planet tomorrow. Don’t even think of going back to your cushy school. Forget your friends,” Yasmin ordered. “Especially your boyfriend.”

Shepard bit her lip. She and Justin had been together for two years now and he actually stood an inch taller than her. To think that one job could go so badly and tear down her entire life in one day…

She had been going out on late night weekend jobs for months now. The excuse to Khalibs always the same, she wanted to spend the night at Yasmin’s. It had been exciting at first, dressing in black, getting picked up in an unmarked skycar, driven by people Yasmin trusted. They’d go to a different location every time. Sometimes an abandoned warehouse, sometimes a motel, or possibly a run-down office rented for the month.

And then Shepard worked. Yasmin would have hand-written the targets on a piece of paper, actual paper, and hand it to her before she left.

The assignment tonight had been different. Same outfit, same pickup, but the target stood out to Shepard. Instead of one of their usual locations, they took her to a remote office of ExoGeni. They had sliced through the security easily and found the terminal Yasmin needed hacked. But then came the cocoon and every man for himself. Shepard considered herself lucky she hadn't gotten trapped inside the building.

"Yasmin, you can't expect me to give up my entire life-"

Before Shepard could react, Yasmin stood in front of her and shook her shoulders hard. "You go back, your life is over, understood?" Yasmin said angrily. "If this was something simple, and you getting caught meant four years in juvenile detention followed by mandatory enlistment in the Alliance, I'd let you go."

"I don't want to en-"

"This was the Shadow Broker, Shepard."

"What's the-"

"The less you know the better. This is life of death, do you understand? You go back to your school, sit next to your boyfriend, you will die and get him killed, too," Yasmin said, her voice shaking.

The reality of her new life started to sink in. "Yasmin, I'm fourteen years old, where I am supposed to go?" Shepard had never been so afraid in her life.

Yasmin turned and opened a nightstand drawer, throwing Shepard an unopened omni-tool. "Polaris. Wipe it and get yourself off the grid," Yasmin said. For a moment, her mouth quirked into a sad smile. "Remember all those things we practiced but I never let you try for real? Make yourself a new life. You're not Jane Shepard anymore."

"Then who am I?" Shepard asked.

"Does it matter? Keep your surname. That's your calling card. You're the Shepard. Use that to your advantage," Yasmin said, tearing off her robe and changing into a pair of jeans and a hoodie.

"But where-"

"Dammnit, Shepard, let me think," Yasmin snapped. She rubbed her temples. "I owe Curt Weisman a favor. I'll write down the address. Do whatever he needs you to do, tech wise. You're better than anything he's got. If you play your cards right, they'll give you a place to stay."

Yasmin looked at her watch while Shepard pulled at her ponytail, trying to figure out if this was all really happening. This had to be a dream. Real life didn't work like this. It couldn't.

"We're out of time, Shepard. We need to get out of here now," Yasmin said, closing her suitcase.

Shepard followed Yasmin out of the room and down the stairs. "We'll go through the back." Yasmin announced. She briefly entered the kitchen and opened a drawer, taking out a stack a credit chits. "Five thousand credits. It will last you for a while. Hack whenever you need money."

Yasmin slammed the drawer closed and closed her eyes. "I'm going to figure this out, Shepard. I'll get your life back somehow."

Shepard nodded, feeling absolutely numb. And then Yasmin drew Shepard into a fierce hug. "Don't do anything stupid, Shepard." Yasmin stepped back and put her hands on either side of Shepard's face. "You've been like a daughter. Please stay alive."

"I'll try," Shepard whispered. She would get a motel room for the night and overclock her new 'tool. Polaris was a top of the line tool; she could work magic with it.

"Now get out of here," Yasmin said, her voice jagged and sharp.

Shepard ran out the backdoor and didn't look back.

~~~~~

Shepard stared at the form on her omni-tool, not sure what to write. How does someone choose a first name for themselves? She thought about using her mother's name or the name of the actress in that vid she and Justin saw last week.

She tried not to think about Justin, or any of her friends. Would any of them look for her? Or just assume she went with the Khalibs where ever they ended up? Would they miss her?

Shepard glanced at the address Yasmin gave her. It was in Inglewood, so the chances of seeing anyone from the rich suburbs of Pasadena was remote.

Flopping back onto the scratchy motel comforter, Shepard stretched her arms above her head. She had paid using one of the unmarked credit chits, a week in advance. Another advantage of her height, everyone assumed she was old enough to have a room by herself.

_Name... name..._

Her father's face came to mind and she blinked rapidly, realizing that she was never going to see his face again. Not her mother's face or her grandfather's face. Those pictures were all on the Bluewire 'tool that Yasmin destroyed. The backup waited at the Khalib’s, which she had been forbidden to go. How long would it be before she forgot what they looked like?

She thought about her father, how little she knew about him. Greek nationality, she knew that. And then she thought about his mother. She had seen pictures of an older woman with long black hair. One of the last women to die of cancer before the disease had been cured. There were some old text messages Shepard had read between her father and mother and in one of them he told her that his mom’s name was a variation of the Greek word for wisdom, something Shepard needed desperately in her life right about now.

Shepard said the name out loud, trying it out, wondering if she could spend the rest of her life with that name. She said it again.

It would work just fine.

~~~~~

Shepard turned the corner and knew she headed in the right direction. The warehouse looked abandoned, but she heard loud voices from the yard and the sound of occasionally gun fire. She shuddered. She hated guns.

About four people, all in their early twenties, stood in front of the building. Shepard’s nose wrinkled, smelling tobacco. Her grandpa used to smoke a pipe occasionally. That smell she liked. Cigarettes? No, thank you.

As she approached, the group quieted, all turning their attention on her. Shepard kept her head down and refused to make eye contact. Once she made it to the entrance, Shepard pressed the buzzer.

And waited.

She pressed the buzzer again and nothing happened. Finally the group behind her started snickering. “Buzzer doesn’t work, kid,” a woman with a strong Boston accent said.

Shepard turned and looked at the quartet of people. Three men and the woman stood there. None of them looked dangerous but what did Shepard know these days. She hardly even knew her name.

“Wait a second. You Yasmin’s girl?” one of the men said. He had dark hair and a heavy jaw. “The Shepard?”

Nodding, Shepard took a cautious step towards the group.

“Man, when Yasmin said she was returning the favor I didn’t think it be with a punk kid,” the man said. The others openly laughed behind him. “What is this shit?”

Shepard opened her new omni-tool. She had it overclocked even better than her Nexus. Her fingers flew through various programs, searching for a crack to get inside. It was almost too easy. This was a man who had paid serious credits to someone who knew how to make it look like the ‘tool was secure, while not wasting any money actually securing it. Two minutes later, Shepard was 2,000 credits richer.

Turning off her omni-tool, Shepard said, “You might want to check your bank balance.”

The man’s eyes grew wide and he opened his omni-tool. “You just stole two thousand credits from me.”

“I did,” Shepard said. Her body seemed to be at war with itself and she felt tense, like she was ready for flight. One wrong move from the group and she’d run. She probably wouldn’t get very far, but she’d try anyway.

“How’d you get past my security?” he asked.

Shepard forced herself to relax and crossed her arms over her chest. “Because you paid a lot of money so you could boast that you have the best security when all you really have is a fancy firewall.”

The other members of the group laughed again, but this time, it wasn’t pointed in her direction.

“Sounds about right,” said one of the other men.

“You can make my ‘tool better?” the heavy jawed man asked her.

“Give me an hour and no one will ever steal from you again.”

“I like the sound of that,” the man said, smiling. He held out his hand. “I’m Finch.”

She shook his hand with a heavy grip. Yasmin taught her how to shake hands properly. “Shepard.”

The man gave her an approving nod. “Welcome to the Tenth Street Reds.”


	7. G is for Grit

**December 2169 - Inglewood, California, The United North American States**

The music blared from her earbuds and still it wasn’t enough to drown out the noise. Shepard felt her grip tightening on her datapad, trying to concentrate on the numbers in front of her. Out of all the math she had encountered in her life, geometry was by far her worst subject, and the one threatening to derail her straight A average.

She needed to concentrate, an almost impossible feat in the headquarters of the Tenth Street Reds. Stifling a yawn, Shepard tried to figure out the equation, but her eyes kept drooping. Finch had her on a job last night, giving zero fucks that she had school in the morning. Somehow she managed to make it through her day without falling asleep. Thankfully she was off the roster tonight, so she could stay in, do her homework and get an early night.

Or she could if there wasn’t an asshole in the room with her.

Limit reached, Shepard grabbed a nearby pillow and threw it at Devon. “Cut it out with the porn already,” she said angrily. Devon smirked and flicked his omni-tool screen up onto the wall of the room, showing an asari and a volus going at it. Loudly. Shepard rolled her eyes and turned her back towards the screen, trying to get comfortable on an impossibly uncomfortable couch.

The warehouse the Reds were based in didn’t have a lot of space. Shepard’s only other option if she wanted to stay in was the dorm, but last she checked, the door wouldn’t open, locked from the inside. Shepard made the mistake of hacking that lock once, only a couple of days after she started living with the Reds. She quickly learned never to do that again.

That left the common room for her homework. Several oversized leather couches took up most of the space. The whole place had a dreary look to it, though. Grey concrete walls and floors, with maps and bullet holes as decorations. The overhead lighting never worked, meaning the entire place was lit by a few poorly position floor lamps and open omni-tools.

If Shepard didn’t have a job, most nights found her in this room, sitting on the couch, legs tucked under her, trying to finish her homework, a joke to the other Reds. But then again, she was the youngest by several years. They kept her around, though. Almost every night someone threw an omni-tool her way to improve, to secure, sometimes to hack. And a couple of nights a week, Finch sent her out on a job.

Shepard didn’t like to think of herself as a criminal, but she had no illusions. She was. They stole from banks, corporations, anyone who had enough money who might not notice some was missing. No one ever told her where the credits went though, and Shepard was smart enough not to ask. Two and a half more years, she reminded herself almost daily. Then she’d graduate high school and make her way into college. She’d never have to think about the Reds again.

Behind her, the asari moaned, and Shepard turned her music up again, concentrating on geometry. But a few minutes later, thanks to the music, she didn’t hear Devon sneak up behind her, placing his hand uncomfortably high on her inner thigh. Rolling her eyes, Shepard pushed his hand away. Every couple of weeks, she and Devon had the same song and dance. He was a nice enough guy; she trusted him when they went on jobs together, but that didn’t change the fact that he was twenty years old and thought it okay to watch porn in public.

“What do you think, would you moan like that asari?” Devon said, putting his hand back on her thigh.

Shepard froze, unsure of the next step now that Devon had changed the rules of the game. He always backed off if Shepard pushed him away. Always. Her eyes darted about and she became quite aware that they were the only two in the room. “You remember I’m fifteen, right?” Shepard said, trying to sound casual, even as her insides were shaking. She switched off her music, wanting to be complete alert. “Slide you hand up any further and you’ll go to jail.”

“Age of consent is sixteen in the good ole’ UNAS,” Devon said, his breath hot on Shepard’s neck. “I can be a very patient man.”

“No, Devon,” Shepard said, standing up and grabbing her datapad and backpack. She turned and looked him in the eye. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

“Just having a bit of fun,” Devon said, running a hand over his dirty blond hair. “Such a fucking tease.”

Shepard rolled her eyes. “Go to hell.” No point arguing with him. Men like Devon never changed. So instead of wasting any more brain cells on him, Shepard left the room and went right to the dorm.

The lock still flashed red and Shepard had enough. With purpose only the wandering know, Shepard marched out of the warehouse, feeling the chill in the air, making her wish she had brought a coat with her. The sun had already set for the day, leaving a patchwork of blue and purple clouds at the horizon.

Shoving her hands in her jean pockets, Shepard started to walk. The warehouse was in an abandoned part of town, with hardly any other houses or businesses nearby. Good when you didn’t want the authorities to notice you. Bad when all you wanted was a damn cup of coffee. And in the mornings, Shepard had a twenty minute walk to the closest bus station to get to school.

She needed to think. Living at the warehouse just didn’t work. But where else could she go? She let out a snort, thinking she should go where her school district thought she lived. Thanks to some creative hacking on her part, Santa Monica High School thought she was the daughter of Jason and Allison Shepard, on Alta Drive, right near the beach. She went to see the place once. Off white stucco walls with Spanish tiles on the roof. A pool in the back and a manicured lawn out front. The perfect place to grow up. Her mother would have loved it.

Maybe enough time had passed. Maybe she could go back to the foster care system and say living on Mindoir with the Khalibs simply didn’t work out. Shepard checked some times, to see how they were doing. She could tell, thanks to banking records and social media, that they were happy on Mindoir. Mister Khalib managed the farming colony. Nadia’s social media kept complaining how boring she found everything, but that was nothing new. Yasmin…

Shepard hadn’t found any trace of Yasmin yet.

She was sure it was on purpose, not wanting to be found. And sometimes Shepard wondered if she wasn’t trying hard enough to find her mentor. She was the more skilled of both of them, after all. Maybe someday.

Except… going back to the foster care system, especially when they would just kick her out in two and a half years when she turned eighteen seemed silly.

And that’s when she saw the answer. A first generation X3M with a sign on the window. “For Sale.”

A couple of Reds had their own skycars. Thanks to Finch, Shepard knew how to drive. More than once, Shepard had been sent out to pick up snacks or alcohol when everyone else was hopped up on Red Sand. She’d been tempted to try the drug herself a few times, but the need for sleep always won out.

The Reds kept her around to do a job, so she did that to the best of her ability. What did it matter if she didn’t have any friends? Even at school, Shepard never had time to socialize. She barely made it to school in time as it was, thanks to public transportation and left the moment the school bell rung in case Finch needed her.

But a skycar… She could drive to school herself, save more than an hour a day commuting. Maybe she could start talking to some kids, offer to drive them home after school. She could drive herself to the library, maybe do her homework there, instead of the common room. She could have some freedom.

Shepard didn’t hesitate. It took almost all the money she had in her savings, but within the hour, the skycar belonged to her.

~~~~~

“Where the fuck have you been?” Finch said, storming out of the room everyone considered his office. Shepard felt her body cave into itself a bit and she tried to remember Yasmin’s words. _Use your height. Don_ _’t apologize for taking up space._ But she could still feel herself hunching as hugged her arms tight to her chest.

“I’ve been out,” Shepard said, her mind on her new skycar parked on the lawn. She already updated the locks. No one on the Reds had the tech ability to open her security, so she knew it was safe. “I’m not a prisoner.”

“Don’t get all righteous on me,” Finch said. “We’ve got a job.”

Shepard let out a groan. “I had a job last night, Finch. I’m exhausted.”

He turned towards her and took a step into her personal space. “You should be sleeping during the day instead of going to school. What the hell do you need to know that you don’t already? Aren’t you some kind of genius or something?”

Shaking her head, Shepard said, “Just in math.” He wouldn’t care that she barely scrapped by in English and History. Only working her ass off kept grades up.

“Use a sick day tomorrow,” Finch said, grabbing her arm. “This is last minute and I don’t want to waste it.”

Shepard let him lead her to the rest of the group, knowing it was pointless to argue. She tried, in the beginning, but after a while, it was just easier to shut down and not think about it. So she sat in silence, listening to Finch tell them the details. She only perked up when she heard the target. “Doesn’t Haribon Industries make weapons for the Alliance?” Shepard asked, chewing on a fingernail. “This might be above me.”

“You seem to be saying that a lot lately, Shepard,” Finch said calmly, though she could tell he was annoyed. “If it’s too much, we’ll bug out.” He looked at the group, three others besides her. “Any got questions?”

Shaking her head, Shepard looked down at the ground. She shouldn’t have said anything. Now Finch would wonder if she had cold feet.

“Go change and let’s get out of here.”

~~~~~

No one spoke to Shepard on the way back to the warehouse. No one even looked at her. Shepard sat between Weisman and Holt, her hoodie pulled far over her eyes and her arms crossed over her chest, trying to make herself disappear.

She told them. Haribon Industries would have security just as good, if not better, than she was. The look on Finch’s face when she told him ‘no dice’ was not one she wanted to remember.

The skycar stopped in front of the warehouse and everyone scrambled out. Shepard tried to slip away without anyone noticing but Finch grabbed the back of her neck and slammed her against the skycar. “What the fuck, Shepard?” he asked, his voice furious

Shepard felt a chill go down her spine as her eyes watered from the impact. She didn’t say anything, sure it must be better to let Finch get this rant out of his system.

“That’s three jobs this month you’ve made us leave. Three!” Finch said, putting his forearm against her chest in a hold she didn’t think she would be able to break. “Why the hell am I keeping you around if you’re not doing anything!”

“I’m just trying to keep us out of jail-”

She saw the push before she felt it. One moment Shepard had been standing upright, the next, she lay on the ground, her mouth full of dirt. “I’m sick of you, Shepard,” Finch said, pacing in front of her. “A year ago, I thought you were something special. Now, I keep you around because Devon hopes you’ll fuck him when you turn sixteen.”

Her entire body hurt. Picking herself off the ground, Shepard wiped the dirt from her face, her eyes not leaving Finch’s. Yeah, she forced them to leave a few jobs earlier than he liked, but she also had hacked him a lot of money and information. He had no one on his team as good as she was and if he ever hoped to compete with some of the bigger gangs out there, he needed her.

_Knowledge is power_ , Yasmin’s voice whispered in her head. Maybe Shepard discovered the perfect time to see if there was any truth to that statement.

Shepard pushed back her shoulders and stood up straight. At her full height, a good one point eight meters, Shepard actually stood a little taller than Finch. “Then I’ll leave,” Shepard said, her voice quiet, as Yasmin taught her once, because she wanted him to strain to have to hear her. She wanted his complete, undivided attention.

The words stopped Finch in his tracks. “What?”

“You don’t want me around, I’ll go-”

“You really think I’m gonna let you run off to another gang?” Finch practically snarled, his hand resting on his pistol.

Shepard forced herself to stay calm, even when her insides were shaking. Raising her hands in surrender, Shepard said, “Whoa, no one said anything about another gang, Finch. The Reds have been good to me.”

“Damn right they have.”

“But I make the others uncomfortable, you know that. I’m too young,” Shepard said, her hands still in the air. “So let’s make a deal. I’ll come by once a week, take care of any ‘tools and you call me when you want me on a job.”

Finch took his hand off his pistol and looked like he might actually be considering her offer. “Don’t think for a second that means you get more of a cut if you don’t live here.”

Shepard wanted to laugh. They barely gave her any credits after a job as it was. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” She held out her hand and willed him to take it. “What do you say?”

“This better be on the up and up, Shepard. If you disappear, I will find you,” Finch said. He stared at her hand and after leaving her hanging for a moment, finally shook it.

“I won’t,” Shepard promised, keeping the desperation out of her voice. Now that the thought of not living in the warehouse had lodged in her brain, she needed it to become a reality. “You call, I’ll answer.”

Finch nodded. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

Shepard didn’t have to be told twice. Her backpack and datapad were already in her skycar. Sure, she should go back for a change of clothes, but those could be easily bought. Shepard slipped into the front seat of her skycar and ran her hands over the dash. For the first time since she left Yasmin’s house, she didn’t feel like she was drowning.

She brought up the interface - one of these days Shepard would have to decide if she wanted to go bareskin and have the accelerometers implanted in her fingertips - and looked at the road ahead.

It was a beautiful night for a drive. 


	8. H is for Homeless

**May 2170 - Santa Monica, California, The United North American States**

A sharp rap at the window woke Shepard up at once. Seeing the police officer outside her skycar spurred her into action. She pressed a few buttons, rolling down the window while she quickly slipped her good omni-tool off her wrist, leaving a generic one in case she was taken into custody.

Then she pretended to cry.

“Yes, Officer?” Shepard said, her voice hitching on the last syllable.

“It’s three o’clock in the morning,” the office said. Shepard heard kindness in his voice. She could work with that. “Why are you out here in the parking lot in the middle of the night?”

Shepard wiped her eyes. “My mom and I had a fight,” she said, hoping she sounded miserable enough. “She told me to get out and go to a friend’s house tonight, but Lara is out of town and I couldn’t think of anyone else…”

The officer put up his hand. He looked concerned and Shepard hoped she didn’t sell it too hard. The last thing she needed was for the man to offer help work things out with her ‘mom.’ “Your mother wouldn’t want you out here alone,” he said. Shepard wondered if he had daughter of his own. “Go home.”

“Yes, sir,” Shepard said, nodding her head. “You’re right, I’d rather be in my own bed anyway.”

“Good,” the officer said. He tapped the door. “I’m not going to write you a warning for breaking curfew. Just go right home.”

Shepard turned on the engine and started the car. “I will, right now.”

“Be safe.”

She nodded and started driving. Once she turned a corner and certain she was out of sight, Shepard brought up her omni-tool to look at her spreadsheet to find somewhere else to sleep for a few hours before school opened.

~~~~~

When she made the decision to stop living at the Reds’ headquarters, Shepard thought it would be more difficult to be homeless. She had seen vids of the plight of the post modern homeless man and her heart always went out to them. But Shepard had luck on her side and three points in her favor. First, she lived in southern California. Second, she owned a skycar.

Third, she went to high school.

Her days had a familiar pattern. Six o’clock found her in line, waiting to be let into school with the other athletes. Then she would spend an hour working out: swimming, running, lifting weights, to give her an excuse to use the shower. Every day, she checked the different shower stalls - looking for half empty bottles of shampoo and conditioner, maybe even shaving cream - that her classmates left behind. Her high school was located in one of the richer suburbs of the area. Her classmates _always_ left things behind.

She learned that the teacher’s lounge in the academic building sat empty most of the time, but always had coffee ready. Most mornings, one teacher or another brought in donuts or coffee cake or muffins. And without anyone being the wiser, Shepard had her breakfast.

Lunch was a treasure trove of possibilities. Shepard hacked her way into free hot lunches, but still bought a sandwich most days to slip into her backpack to eat for dinner. And as she walked through the cafeteria, if she picked up a piece of fruit or a snack bar off of someone’s deserted tray, no one needed to know. They had families who would cook them dinner tonight, while Shepard ate alone in her skycar.

And every day she sat at the same table, with Milo, the only other person at the school taking graduate level math courses with her, and the only two aliens at the school. Shepard knew that the other kids called this the freak table, but she didn’t care. Milo, Lara T’Sota and Dafra Vec had become decent friends over the past few months. Better friends than anyone she met at the Reds.

Shepard sat down at their table, her stomach growling as she looked at the plate of chicken, tater tots and a salad. Dafra sat across from her, reading his omni-tool and drinking a packet of nutrient paste. “What are you reading?” Shepard asked as she started to cut her chicken.

_Shrrk_ “Letter from my Hierarchy pen pal,” Dafra said. He took another sip. _Shrrk_ “He’s complaining again, cause all he wants _shrrk_ is to be a SPECTRE like Saren, that famous turian one.”

“Good to have goals,” Shepard said.

Across the cafeteria, Shepard heard a commotion and saw Lara walking towards their table, her datapad hugged tightly to her chest. A few seniors made rude comments, which wasn’t unusual as Lara was the only asari in the school. What was unusual was the blue corona flaring around her skin when she talked back to the group.

The seniors backed off at once.

“Human males are assholes,” Lara announced as she sat down at the table, taking a tater tot from Shepard’s plate and plopping it in her mouth.

“No argument here,” Milo said, looking up from his datapad. “We are all assholes.”

Shepard snorted and shared a smile with Milo. He was one of the few people in school who actually needed to wear glasses, instead of having them for fashion, which he pushed up on his nose before his cheeks reddened and he hastily looked back down at his datapad. He had been sneaking glances at her for a while now. Sometimes Shepard wondered…

Her omni-tool beeped and Shepard sighed, hearing the message tone she assigned to the Reds. Finch probably had a job for her tonight. Well, it was Friday. She had nothing better to do.

“You always look sad when you hear that tone,” Milo said softly.

Shepard looked up, feeling her heart race a bit faster. She’d have to be more careful. The last thing she needed was anyone asking questions, especially someone she considered a friend. Then again, she never thought Milo would notice a little detail like her message tone.

“You know how it is,” Shepard said, trying her hardest to sound casual. She pointed at a calculus problem on his datapad and started talking about class and tried not to feel too grateful when he let her easily change the subject.  

~~~~~

Shepard stalked back into the Reds’ Headquarters, her chin held high. Finch had no right to complain about a job well done tonight. Everything went off without a hitch.

The common room was unusually packed for a Friday night, almost a dozen Reds’ crowded around an omni-tool screen thrown up on the wall. Curious, Shepard walked over to the group.

_This is Hestia Reynolds with Westerlund News. The Alliance has now officially gone on record that the colony of Mindoir, in the Attican Traverse, has been completely destroyed by batarian slavers. There were no survivors._

Shepard heard the words but her brain refused to make sense of them. She whipped open her omni-tool and went to Nadia Khalib’s main social media page.

_[21:45 05 21 2170] Dad_ _’s worried about something. He’s locked himself in his office and won’t come out._

_[21:57 05 21 2170] Dad says we have to grab the emergency kits now and get out of here. What the fuck is going on?_

_[00:13 05 22 2170] We_ _’re in the shelter. Only maybe a fourth of the colony made it. This doesn’t seem real._

_[03:39 05 22 2170] They_ _’re trying to open the doors. Dad says we’ll surrender if they do. Better slaves than dead, right? This can’t be happening._

“Shepard, you look like you’re going to be sick.”

Shepard didn’t even acknowledge the words, instead turning on her heel and running into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. Yasmin had sent the Khalibs to Mindoir because of Shepard, because she fucked up a job.

She dropped to her knees in front of the toilet, hoping to throw up, but all she did was dry heave. They were all dead. Nadia, Mr and Mrs Khalib. Dead. Shepard wasn’t foolish enough to blame herself for the entire raid; that was the batarians fault. But those three deaths…

A loud knock on the door forced Shepard back to the present. How long had see knelt in front of the toilet? “People waiting to use the john.”

“Almost done,” Shepard said, feeling weak in the knees. With a deep breath, she splashed some cool water on her face and looked into the mirror, feeling like she aged a decade tonight.

She left the bathroom and walked into the common room. Thankfully, the omni-tool screen had been turned off and a group of Reds were crowded around a makeshift table. Shepard saw the bags of Red Sand piled in the center, like an offering.

Ignoring the voice in her head screaming, ‘stupid stupid stupid,’ Shepard walked over to the table and sat down. Devon and Marsha, an older Red, exchanged glances before looking at her.

“Ready to come down to our level, Shepard?” Marsha asked, her Boston accent thick with sarcasm.

Shepard ignored her. She didn’t want to think. She wanted to get high for the first time in her life and forget everything. Forget the fact that she lived out of a skycar. Forget that she messed up a job so badly once she forced Yasmin to move the Khalibs to Mindoir. And definitely forget that batarian slavers killed everyone in the colony.

_This can_ _’t be happening._

“What do I need to do?” Shepard asked.

With a bemused smile, Marsha showed Shepard how to cut the line of Red Sand and how to roll up the paper. A few others joined the crowd, and Shepard almost felt like she was on display. Everyone waiting for the Shepard to take her first hit.

And then she did.

~~~~~

“This is the coolest I’ve ever seen her,” someone said. Shepard couldn’t quite place the voice, but didn’t care. The words surprisingly hurt. But then she thought, if this was their version of cool, being on all fours, coming down from her high, she wanted no part in it.

“Seriously, dude,” Devon said. His voice, Shepard recognized. “Think she’ll fuck me? She’s sixteen now, right?”

The words spurred Shepard into action. She sat up and looked Devon in the eye. “No. No, I will not fuck you. Stop wanting to, it’s creepy and wrong.”

“Well, she was cool for a little bit, I guess,” the other guy said.

Shepard’s head hurt. Any euphoria she had from the drugs already seemed to have worn off. And taking another hit seemed like a really bad idea. Taking the first hit had been a bad idea, too. Why had she done that again?

_This can'_ _t be happening._

Her eyes closed and Shepard brought her knees to her chest. She felt tears starting to form but she willed them back. She couldn’t cry, not here in front of the Reds. Word would get back to Finch and she already stood on thin ice.

“Oh shit, she’s crashing,” Devon said. He laughed, but it was an ugly one. Shepard could hear the scorn in his voice.

“Back off, she’ll be fine,” Marsha said, sitting next to Shepard on the floor. Shepard felt Marsha’s arm go around her shoulders. “You gonna be okay, Shepard?”

“I just want some fresh air,” Shepard said, her voice quiet. Her nose itched and all she could think about was drinking a glass of water.

“Then let’s get you some fresh air,” Marsha said, standing up and holding out a hand. Shepard took her hand and allowed herself to be pulled up. Nothing stood straight as she looked around and the colors just felt _off._ How did people do this every day?

When they stepped outside, Shepard felt better at once, feeling the crisp night air around her. “I’m just gonna go home, Marsha,” Shepard said quietly as she looked at her skycar. “Thanks for everything.”

“Drugs aren’t for everyone,” Marsha said with a shrug of her shoulders. “Get home safe.”

Shepard watched Marsha disappear back into the warehouse and walked over to her skycar. “I’m home safe,” she said, hating the bitterness in her voice as she unlocked the door.

She shouldn’t be driving, she knew that, but she absolutely couldn’t stay here. There was a factory nearby, one that had an overnight shift, so her skycar would blend in easily. She’d go there.

Her limbs felt heavy as she turned the car on, feeling it hover slightly over the ground. She took the drive carefully and slow, making sure not to go above the speed limit. Only a few minutes passed before she parked, safe and sound.

On the passenger side lay her backpack. Ignoring her brain’s plea to simply go to sleep, Shepard opened the backpack and grabbed a bottle of water.

This had been a dumb idea. The Khalibs were still dead. She still lived in a skycar. And now she just felt awful about everything. No more Red Sand, ever again.

She’d just close her eyes for a moment. Get a little sleep, then find a better place to spend the rest of the night. Only a moment…

The knock on her window woke Shepard up. A factory security guard, not a cop, Shepard thought with relief. She quickly switched omni-tools and opened the window.

But this time, she didn’t need to pretend to cry.


End file.
